If You Seek Amy Tonight
by impromptucoffee
Summary: Blaine is eighteen and a virgin, has only ever been kissed, but sex is always on his mind and with an exhibitonism streak a mile wide he finds himself with a blog and a lot of admirers, one of which becomes less anonymous the more he sees - a fill for the GKM
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I was drawn to this prompt on the GKM because I'm a virgin at eighteen, (overshare, sorry) almost nineteen, and this is way for me to write a story about how we are _not _all innocent, naive people and I can use characters I love to do it and the prompt also seemed a lot of fun. I usually do PWP with stories involving sex but with this I can and want to get deeper into it because personally, I'm sick of being seen as an innocent virgin when a lot of the time it's the complete opposite *gets down off my soapbox*

**Disclaimer:** I own nada.

**Warnings:** Exhibitionism.

* * *

**If You Seek Amy Tonight**

* * *

Blaine thinks he might be a slut. He doesn't know the exact term for what he is – a _complete _virgin (kissing aside) with somewhat of an obsession with sex – but slut seems to fit because he's certain that if any boys were interested in dating him, or simply fucking him into the mattress, he'd take them up straight away.

The first time someone kissed Blaine, just turned age seventeen in the total darkness of the back of his car, he'd felt a surge of heat roll up his spine and the moment he'd curled his fist into the front of the boy's t-shirt, they'd backed away and looked him up and down with a raised eyebrow.

Less than thirty seconds later, Blaine was alone in the car and resisting the urge to punch a window out. He was a virgin, yes, sexually inexperienced, yes, but that _didn't _mean he knew _nothing_ about sex.

It's quite the opposite in fact.

That prickle of pleasure and rush of _moremoremore _he'd felt in the back of the car had set Blaine's mind whirring and while he wasn't a prude about sex in the first place, he hadn't known everything at the time. He still blames his schools lack of gay sex education for that but he knows things now, all that he thinks he wants to know, and sex is constantly on his mind, always making his cock stir and his heart pound at the sight of a firm ass in tight jeans.

Before now, he's considered that he shouldn't be this obsessed because maybe it is _just _sex and he's not missing out on a lot but one evening he'd ventured onto the internet and gone in search of people like him.

He found them within seconds – boys and girls, men and women, openly talking about their sex lives and kinks on their blogs, posting videos and pictures, some virgins, some not and Blaine had felt at _home _on these websites – he felt normal for the first time in a long time and by the time he'd gone to bed (after jerking off and muffling his cries in his pillows), he had his own blog setup and ready to go, waiting empty for him to wake up the next day and write out a good morning to his new world.

* * *

To say Blaine was welcomed with open arms (and legs) to the blogging world would be understatement.

He's barely had the blog three weeks before he has sixteen followers, a mixture of all ages, races and genders, liking every post he writes about the ups and downs of being a virgin who craves sex but has no dating history or hope, and sending him questions, some genuinely inquisitive (_What's it like being gay in Ohio?)_ andsome filthy and suggestive (_Can I spread your virgin ass and watch it beg for my cock?)_ that make his toes curl and his cock harden so fast it makes him dizzy.

It's a month later, on a Thursday evening after a day where Blaine is just _sick _of being treated a like a child and so innocent – a boy in the coffee shop he's a regular at had called him a naïve schoolboy with no hope of getting laid with a dress style, a baby face and a tiny build that screams virgin – that he's ranting on his blog, hitting the keys furiously as he types and a minute after he posts, a message comes into his inbox and his first thought is _yes, God, yes, _when he reads it – _Why don't you give us a picture of your body? It's untouched so it must be gorgeous._

Blaine's got his clothes off in the next five seconds and he squeezes around the base of his cock where it's hard and jutting out from his body. He's looked at pictures of other people on his blog, follows four or five gay boys, one of them a virgin too, who frequently take snapshots or videos of themselves in the throes of orgasm, still black and white pictures of their come streaking up their chests, sometimes hitting their chin or cheeks and it hasn't hit Blaine until now that _yes _he wants to do that too.

He wants to feel desirable for once, told that his cock looks made for someone's mouth or that he's so pretty, so hot, because it never happens in real life, is never said to his face, and he doesn't think it's so wrong to want to feel wanted, even by strangers over the internet who will probably jerk off to pictures of him, spread and wanting on his tangled sheets.

He's described himself before on his blog, looked down at his own body and tried to see it from someone else's point of view so the people who kept asking could have an idea what he looks like from the neck down and it's made him thrill when they've said how hot he sounds and how much they'd love to hold him against a wall and feel him squirm but it's here and now, his door locked and his camera in his hand that he realizes how much he's going to _love _this and how much he _wants _to be seen, debauched and hard, by whoever is willing to look.

Lifting the camera above him and throwing his head back out of view, Blaine angles it just right so he can get his whole body in frame, his free arm bent up behind his head to stretch out his torso and define the small bit of muscle he does have across his stomach and then he presses the button, shutting his eyes and biting his lip to hold in a groan at how good just taking the picture feels, knowing where it's going to be and how many will see it and maybe _want him_.

Dropping his arm, he slumps into his desk chair, cock still flushed and red, and slips the memory card into his laptop, tilting his head and thinking _it'll do _when he clicks to the picture. The qualities good (he's glad his Dad spoiled him with a good camera two years ago) and the lighting a little off, but he can see himself clear enough so he clicks back through to his blog and hits upload, not captioning the picture or tagging it for now so he can see how this goes down first.

When his blog reloads, the picture his first post, he shivers a little and smiles, grabbing a hold of his cock and starting to stroke, swiping his thumb through the precome that's been leaking steadily over the past few minutes and he catches sight of himself in the mirror across his room, face flushed and eyes black and thinks to himself, a little pride swelling inside of him, _You're an exhibitionist, Blaine Anderson. Treasure it._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** The response I've had to this has been _amazing _so thank you so much for reading and enjoying it. There might be a slight lack of updates for the next week or so because I'm having University issues (big ones) and I need to sort my life out, so bear with me. But again, thank you for all of your ridiculously lovely reviews.

* * *

Blaine crawled into bed soon after posting the picture, bored of refreshing his blog over and over, waiting for a message or someone to like it, but after glancing up at his clock and seeing it was ticking on half past one in the morning he guessed that he wouldn't be noticed until morning, so he slid under his covers and starfished out with a happy sigh.

It took him a while to even contemplate shutting his eyes, too busy staring at the ceiling and savouring the hum of his body, ignoring the anxious twinge over people _not _liking his body and interest in his blog dwindling until he's back to square one, a lonely, sex craving virgin in Ohio, trying to find someone_, anyone_, who understands and will listen.

With a shake of his head, Blaine banishes that thought. He did this because he was asked and because he wanted to more than anything and he's felt _accepted _since he started this all, like he has friends even if they're strangers.

Casting one last glance over to his laptop, Blaine rolls over and his eyes slide shut, a smile gracing his face as he drifts into sleep.

Blaine wakes with a start, a hand flying down to palm over his erection as pictures of sweat and skin and writhing bodies are still fresh in his mind, making his back arch and his breath catch.

It takes him barely two minutes to finish, his hand sinking inside his pyjama pants and stroking, squeezing, _harderfasterthere_, until there's streaks of come across his hand, stretching between his fingers, and he laps at them slowly, wondering what someone else's come might taste like – sweeter? Bitter? Stickier than his own?

He lets his breathing even out and his body temperature to fall from a hundred to normal before he looks over to his laptop, screen still black and staring back at him from his desk, a whole world inside that has to have seen his picture by now.

It feels nothing like a chore for Blaine to get out of bed at that thought, slipping off his plain white tee that's damp with sweat and flopping into his desk chair, tapping impatiently at the trackpad on his laptop while it loads. When the screen comes to life he types in his password and clicks hurriedly at the internet icon, his blog loading as his second homepage and he tries to calm his racing heart before clicking on the tab and daring to look at the notes or his inbox.

His eyes flutter shut and he smiles, gooseflesh rising on his skin when he sees eight messages in his inbox and fifty notes on the picture. Opening his eyes again, now sparkling bright and happy in the glow of his screen, he taps over the notes icon and scrolls down, going past his picture and scrutinizing it on the way: quality still looks good, could've been a little brighter but he can see the faint definition on his stomach, the red flush of his cock and he thrills again, remembering how it felt to take the photo and let people see the body of the gay virgin who loves sex.

The notes underneath are anything but disappointing. Most are likes, thirty or more, but there's a fair few reblogs in there, some with added comments, one in particular that makes Blaine smirk: _It looks like big things now come in small, hot packages._

Blaine's never been that bothered about his height. He knows he's not the tallest guy and he's pretty sure he's stopped growing and this is it, all five foot nine of him in his olive skinned glory, but others have picked on him for it. He's heard every insult in the book – hobbit, short stack, small fry* - but he's just shrugged them off because so what if he's small? Contrary to popular belief of high schoolers, being short doesn't mean he loses out anywhere else.

The jocks at school were the first to snort and jeer when Blaine started to undress for a shower after gym, telling him they'd be embarrassed if they were him to show what's got to be an unimpressive package, a _virgin _package. They'd all snapped their mouths shut and looked away wide-eyed and uncomfortable thirty seconds later when Blaine had slid his boxers off and walked to the showers, towel slung over his shoulder, bottle of shampoo being thrown between his hands and his impressive length on show for all to see.

Blaine wasn't _huge _or scary thick, but he'd seen enough of the other boys in the shower (he wasn't looking so much as looking _away_ – the jocks were attractive, but Blaine had come to learn that straight boys were a little bit gross) to know he was larger than most and not what people expected from someone so compact. This comment on his photo has only added something to his pride that he's different, unusual, and while he's never believed it much in the past, he's desirable too.

He glances over the other notes, something he thinks is _complete_ acceptance starting to bubble up inside, warming him from the heart outward and it settles and feels like it's going to stay as he goes to his inbox and grins, bouncing a little in his seat from the giddy feeling of _I'm wanted, I'm hot, _running through him.

The first message is nothing particularly risqué or dirty, a simple _You're charming, you're funny, you've got that under your clothes and you're a virgin! _which makes Blaine's face heat a little because he can take a compliment of his body well (he works hard to stay fit and he knows from last night he's a show off) but it's compliments to his personality and self that knocks him, makes him fumble his words or duck away shyly if it happens in public (it's a rare occurrence, but embarrassing enough that he remembers it every time) because that's where most of the high school abuse stemmed from.

The moment Blaine understood he was gay, he was aware he was in for a hell of a ride through high school and it did cause him trouble – locker shoves, ridiculous insults – but he thinks that being polite, well dressed and well, a gentleman, made everything worse. Blaine was brought up well, taught how to use his manners and to never fight with his fists, to walk away and be the better man, but just because he's that way, doesn't mean everyone else is too. Especially not in Ohio.

He was bullied simply for being the way he was brought up and on top of that for being gay, so compliments haven't been forthcoming in his life, haven't been a regular thing that he's a perfected a thank you smile for, so when one comes along, even one written by a stranger in his inbox, he squirms and feels his cheeks heat up, sure that he's probably bright red and looks ridiculous.

It does seem a little different now though. As he reads through a couple more messages, both similar to the first but a little more dirty, he still gets the urge to write back and say, "I'm not charming, I'm not witty, my writing is awkward and rambled," but another part of him is beaming and his ego is swelling just a little (he indulges it because it's a rarity) because that's never been what people like him for, yet here they are praising his words, character and body, wanting to see more of his inner and outer self, anything they can.

So, yeah, Blaine's soaking this up, letting every word of want and lust sink into his mind and through his body, sparking through his heart in a wave of warmth and prickling down to his toes so he shudders and smiles.

He clears his throat and rolls his shoulders before looking at the next message, muscles lax and mind free, and his cock twitches as he reads, a twinge that makes Blaine gasp as he tries to get hard again so soon.

He doesn't know why it's this message that gets to him the most, _I want to wrap you round me and hold you against a wall just to feel you writhe and flex with my cock inside you. You'd be beautiful, _because there's others just like it, proposals and fantasies Blaine would never say no to fulfilling, but this one gets him panting and shutting his eyes, a reel of images on the backs of his eyelids of himself being held up, curled around a man who's strong but not muscly, bruising Blaine's shoulders as they rock against the wall with every thrust, screaming, gripping, moaning, and Blaine's hard again in seconds, eyes hazy when he opens them and clicks to reply.

He notices in his state, flushed, hot and aching, that the message isn't anonymous (the only one that isn't), from someone signed as 'highinthemiddle' and Blaine briefly looks at their picture, a black background with a white silhouette of a man's profile, and licks his lips and shifts in his chair, fingers hovering over the keys as he thinks of what to type.

He stares at the message for five minutes before he comes up with anything, writing _I'd take it and scream _as quick as he can, simple and to the point, his hands getting clammy and his heart pounding because this is the first time he's spoken directly to a reader of his blog. Up till now they've all been anonymous, nameless people and faceless usernames, just bodies he's seen in ecstasy, but now there's contact.

He doesn't know where this will go, it could end with his message and the person will go back to watching from afar, maybe post anonymously and like and reblog.

He doesn't know where he _wants _this to go. He's used the blog as a way to talk _at _people rather than tothem or with them and it's worked fine, made him happy, given him a place to vent, but with that simple sending of a message there's suddenly a link between a stranger who could be any age, any race, any person in a world of six billion.

Blaine thinks for a moment about how dangerous this could be, how much information this person could wean from him, then he stops because this is _silly_. He knows the dangers of the internet, has frequently had to free his computer from a virus from watching too much porn and clicking somewhere stupid in his sex haze, and talking to this person, whoever they are, will amount to nothing more than dirty messages, scrolling through each other's blogs and cybersex if Blaine is lucky.

And as Blaine types the username of the message sender into his search bar, their blog popping up full of text posts and pictures that have Blaine grabbing his cock for quick release, he _really _hopes he's lucky.

* * *

*** My Dad and sister used to call me small fry when I was younger because I'm the smallest of three siblings, always will be (I'm 5ft4 and my brother and sister are 6ft).**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** This story is taking an unexpected turn that I didn't see coming (they're always fun), but I know where it's headed and I can only hope you'll like it too in the upcoming chapters. Thank you again for the wonderful feedback on this story :)

* * *

Blaine's naked, except for his boxers, laying on his front on his bed, laptop open as he scrolls through the blog of 'highinthemiddle' for the third time this week.

The first time was straight after he replied to their message so he could get an idea of who this person was – sexually or otherwise – and his willpower to look only at basic information written down the side of the blog (there wasn't much of it anyway) crumbled in thirty seconds and he spent the next ten minutes stroking himself slowly, eyes darting over pictures of sweat soaked skin and a firm ass being held open by both hands so Blaine could see _everything _– pink skin, the shine of lube, a stretched hole – and it was that that brought him to completion, streaking his hand and chest with come.

The second time was two days later when he was starting to think his reply was ridiculous and desperate, screaming virgin so loud that boys in Australia were cringing. He'd thought about it again, _I'd take it and scream, _and huffed before clicking onto his blog and forgetting all about it when his inbox flashed the number three at him and inside was a reply from the elusive (gorgeous) commenter, simply saying _Your virgin ass would beg._

And, boy, did Blaine know that to be true.

He didn't reply, it seemed like dragging the conversation out to just say _Yes, _so he'd left the message in his inbox and had clicked the username, breath catching straight away at the latest picture – a full body shot (except for the face and Blaine understood that piece of privacy) on his bed, darkened lights and flushed skin, hard cock resting on his stomach and Blaine was distracted again with a hand on himself straight away.

He's there again now, seconds away from sitting up and palming himself, because this boy (Blaine's been looking long enough now to know he's eighteen) is beautiful, hot and every complimentary word Blaine can think of. There's been ten new pictures in the past three days – his cock, his ass, the arch of his slim torso as he comes – and Blaine's fixated on every one, so much that his own blogs been silent, tumbleweeds rolling past the picture he's sure everyone's bored of by now.

He didn't mean to get so lost in the boy's blog, forget about his own and leave a few people hanging who've been asking for more, but this still feels new sometimes, being wanted so much, and he still thrills when he remembers the first message this boy sent, talking of sex against walls and the squirm of Blaine's body as he was fucked. The impacts the same every time, making desire shoot through Blaine's veins, and he still can't explain why it's that message that got him, why it's this boy he wants to see so much of, but he's running with it and indulging himself, staring, drooling, enjoying.

With a final once over of the newest picture, Blaine clears his head, as much as he can anyway, and opens up a new text post, writing _I've been away in the middle of a high, but my ass is back and open._

He grabs his camera as soon it's posted, a little proud of himself for the somewhat hidden message, vaulting off the bed and sliding his boxers off, pointedly ignoring the jolt his hips give at the rush of cool air over his cock.

This is all still the same too. The tingle down his spine and the relaxing of his muscles he gets at the thought of any picture he takes being admired and jerked off to.

Maybe it's a little perverse, it sounds it in his head sometimes, that he wants to be people's porn, wants to be looked at at his most vulnerable and objectified as the gay virgin who just wants to be fucked, but this makes him happy. Every like, reblog, simple question or fantasy he's told is another _fuck you _to Ohio, _fuck you _to every Neanderthal jock or short-skirted cheerleader that's put him down. People _want_ him like this, untouched by another, _pure _someone called him last week, and he's happy to give it to them, feeling comfortable in his skin and sexuality, forgetting every sneer and insult that's been thrown his way because he _is _desired, he knows what he wants and screw society, this is his life.

So he flips the camera in his hand and sits on the edge of his bed, thinking of how far to take it today. He wants to up his game now, make sure the pictures get more close and more intimate as he goes but with a glance to his shut bedroom door, he's mindful that his parents are still at home this morning and while they're not prudish or close-minded, he keeps this part of himself secret from the world outside the internet or potential boyfriends (there's a distinct lack of those, however) and he'd rather they didn't walk on in him making good use of the box of sex toys labeled as hiking boots.

He sits still for a moment more and listens for noise outside, sliding further back onto the bed and sitting against his headboard when he hears the faint sound of his mother's laugh and the clinking of metal on ceramic as his Dad makes coffee.

He slips a hand down over his chest and abdomen when he's settled, taking his cock when he reaches it and tugging on it three times, bringing it back to full hardness, the swollen head bright and red in the strips of sun coming through his blinds. He decides it's a somewhat artistic position he's got himself in, stripes of white light cutting across his stomach and down to his thighs and he drops his cock to his stomach as he lifts the camera to his shoulder, angled down to take in the whole of his torso and focus on his cock, leaking precome and pulsing steadily with his heartbeat.

Blaine's glad he doesn't get nervous doing this as the camera clicks by his ear because he's certain a red flush would be obvious as embarrassment rather than arousal and he's not egotistical, but he thinks the olive tone of his skin, some parts brightened by the lines of sun so he looks almost pale, looks good in the picture against the dusting of dark hair covering his chest and trailing down to his cock.

He's never thought much of his chest hair, thought it arrived too early and might never stop coming, but it seems to have stopped as it is, a light covering over his chest, thinning to a line down to his cock and as he tilts the camera to look over the picture again, squinting down at the small screen, he thinks it makes him look a bit older and he can't argue with that when he's off to college in the fall and he wants to look like anything but a child.

He pops the memory card out of the bottom of the camera and puts it in the slot on his laptop, grabbing the blanket at the end of his bed to throw over his lap while he waits for it to load because putting his boxers back on would just be restricting and a blanket hides more if his parents do come in. He's also hoping blocking the visual of his cock might stop him from jerking off yet, his need to get the picture online outdoing his need to feel the splatter of come on his chest and he keeps one hand curled around his knee while the other works on his laptop, pointedly ignoring the heat in his stomach and the twitch of his cock.

The pictures uploaded in the next two minutes, his cock still hard and tenting the blanket, arousal never dimming when he thinks about showing off and his favourite follower, _the _boy, liking what he sees and leaving another message.

Blaine feels a little bit like he has a fan, albeit a short-winded, faceless, nameless and so-far-only-seen-through-cyberspace fan, and it's possible Blaine likes this guy more than the guy likes him but they've talked, the boy called him beautiful and Blaine still doesn't know why, isn't sure he ever will know why, he wants this boy, out of all his followers and people who send messages (all fans in their own right he supposes) to be his biggest fan. He thinks it may be his desire to please and his desire to be wanted by someone like him – a lover of sex, eighteen and a boy of the internet with the pride to show off – and he shrugs, giving up on trying to work nothing out and refreshes his blog, puffing out a breath of air when nothings changed, no notes on the picture yet, no new messages, and throws the blanket off and heads for the bathroom thinking he can save himself a clean up job and potential embarrassment if he jerks off in the shower instead.

* * *

It's lunchtime going on mid-afternoon (half one) by the time Blaine emerges from his bedroom, showered, sated and a spring to his step. He slides onto a stool at the breakfast bar, tapping his feet against the wood underneath as his Mom comes in from the living room and presses a fleeting kiss to his temple as she passes, a smile gracing her face which Blaine returns a little too widely. His Mom says nothing though, sliding him a plate with a ham sandwich on and Blaine thinks that if she's noticed he's happier, she's not prying and he loves her a little bit more for that.

They've never been the closest of families, with his Dad working away until Blaine was thirteen, his Mom deciding her own hours with her interior design business, in and out when she pleased and his brother, Cooper, raising him to a certain extent but disappearing to college as soon as he could, only visiting now when he finds time between auditions for commercials, TV shows or anything really.

They love each other though, in their own way. They took holidays when Blaine and Cooper were younger, a month away sometimes to a lodge at Lake Erie with no one around for miles and it was just the four of them, talking, swimming, being a family and while others think that's not family at all, it seems more like an obligation, Blaine's never felt unhappy.

He could've needed his Mom around more when he came out, needed a few more hugs or reassuring words, but he was glad at least that his family accepted him, even if it took his Dad a couple of months to come round and start calling him "bud" again. The extra comfort would've been welcomed earlier, especially through his four years of high school where he was insulted daily and bruised mentally and physically but he feels a little stronger in himself for getting through it mostly alone, like he can do anything if he can be happy in himself after all the pain.

So it's not the best family in the world but not the worst either and if he could ask for another, he wouldn't because as his Mum sits opposite him, flicking through the paper and sipping at her coffee, comfortable, homely silence between them, the click of his Dad typing in the next room echoing around the house, he knows that if his parents, or Cooper, did find out about his blog, find out he's a sex-obsessed virgin or walk in on him, legs spread and three fingers in his ass, they'd eye him a bit oddly, might take a while to understand, but they _would _understand and he doesn't think he can ask for more than that.

His Mom clicks the lid off her pen and starts the crossword in the paper as Blaine finishes his sandwich, her eyes flicking up to him as he slides the plate away and she says, "Any plans for today?"

Blaine shrugs and savours the warm lilt of his Mom's voice, genuinely inquisitive, not just looking for small talk. "I have a bit of reading to start for college."

His Mom nods and swallows her mouthful of coffee, drumming her fingers on the outside in a steady rhythm when she lowers it. "You could come to the airport with me," she says, taking another drink and looking at Blaine over the top of her mug. Blaine frowns and climbs off his stool, shaking the crumbs on his plate into the bin then putting the plate in the dishwasher. At his bemused expression his Mom says, "Cooper's flying in from LA."

Blaine falters on his way to the sink to wash his hands, says, "I thought he wasn't home until August."

Cooper's rarely home these days and Blaine equally loves and hates the times he is. He loves Cooper, they're friends first, brothers second, but he can't help the twist of his gut at news of his unexpected visit because Cooper's an attention whore (Blaine's sure they're both exhibitionists, in _and _out of the bedroom) and he _just _gets used to his parents undivided attention when he asks for it, then Cooper comes back and it's all talk of LA, pretty girls, how successful he's been and Blaine feels a little on the sidelines, the unpopular kid at school. Cooper's always apologetic though, making time for Blaine for dinner's out or a movie and Blaine's stomach settles as he turns back to his Mom, drying his hands and refolding the towel.

"He's taking some time off." She tips her mug at him. "He said he wants to see you. Catch up."

"Isn't much to catch up on," Blaine sighs, sitting back at the breakfast bar, dropping his chin into his hand.

His Mom rolls her eyes fondly and drains the last of her coffee. "Indulge him, sweetie. He wants to hear about your college plans and talk about New York."

"What about New York?" Blaine asks slowly, carefully, huffing when his Mom shrugs him off and heads for the sink, rinsing her mug out and leaving it upside down on the draining board.

"You'll see," she says and Blaine huffs again, standing and rolling his shoulders.

"I'll come with you," he says.

His Mom nods and checks her watch, looking up at the clock on the wall as well and tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "I'll be going in an hour or so." Blaine smiles as way of saying he heard, his Mom calling, "I'll get you when I'm ready," as he pads out of the room, says a quick good afternoon to his Dad as he passes before heading back to his bedroom.

He flops back on his bed when he gets there, bouncing lightly as he hits the mattress and scratching at the faint stubble along his jaw, blinking up at the ceiling with his brow drawn.

He doesn't know what to think about Cooper wanting to talk about New York. It's where Blaine's heading for college, where he's always wanted to go, and if that's where Cooper now wants to be too, the celebrity of LA boring him at last, Blaine's not sure if it's a good or bad thing.

He wouldn't mind having Cooper with him or near him, a friendly face in the bustling crowds and hoards of new people, but if things get tough and Blaine finds it hard to settle in at first, he knows he'd run to Cooper and become dependent, latching on to the only _real _home comfort around for miles, _hundreds _of miles, and it wouldn't do him any good.

He sighs and runs his hands over his face, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes until there are flashes of technicolour behind his eyelids and he takes them away, dropping them to the bed with a dull thud.

Deciding to ignore his nagging mind for a while, he lolls his head to the side and blinks down at his laptop, still open at the end of his bed, and sits up to draw it closer, playing mindless online games until his Mum's voice carries up the stairs and he prepares to face the loud, occasionally endearing, manners of his brother.

* * *

**Stay tuned for the Cooper cameo.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Cooper has arrived, will be with us for a while and expect the arrival of Kurt soon, in all his gorgeous glory.

* * *

Cooper was brash and infectiously happy the moment he swept through the arrivals gate and came veering towards Blaine and his mom, a little more tanned than the last time Blaine saw him, older but probably not any more mature and as always, the same old Cooper – happy go lucky.

Blaine can't help but grin when Cooper drops his bags and picks him up, spins him round once then puts him back on the ground and ruffles his hair, leaving his hands on Blaine's shoulders as he gives him a once over and their Mom watches fondly from beside them, collecting up Cooper's bags.

Cooper lifts one hand when he looks back up to Blaine's face, bops Blaine on the nose with his index finger then hits his own nose with the same finger, eyebrow twitching up as he does, then he lets Blaine go as soon he's done, turning to their Mom while Blaine's grin falls, his lips pressing into a thin line because he knows what that means, the bopping of his nose and then Coopers own.

They've had the signal since they were young, started when Blaine was eight and Cooper fourteen, and it means they need to talk. Cooper's always been observant of Blaine, learning his body language and shifts in his mood so when Blaine needed to talk and was too shy to ask or their parents were in the room, Cooper invented their signal. He'd get up from across the room, bop Blaine on the nose with a scrunched up smile then tap his own nose and walk away, Blaine following two minutes later into Cooper's room where they'd sit in silence until Blaine was ready and Cooper would listen no matter what.

As Blaine got older, he realised that sometimes Cooper needed to talk too and one day he'd tapped Cooper's nose, touched his own and disappeared to his own bedroom, holding out a half eaten bag of crisps to Cooper when he appeared a while later, flopping onto the bed with a heavy sigh and a confused mind.

It's always been their thing since then, their way of communicating without words and without their parent's intervention, though Blaine suspects their Mom knows but she lets them be, but these days, now they're both older and a little beyond their years, it twists something in Blaine's gut when Cooper does it because the last two times it's happened, the talk hasn't been good, filled with news of Cooper being away longer and longer, Blaine simply sighing and nodding at anything he says, unable to change it as much he'd like to.

Blaine troops to the car, obediently taking one of Cooper's bags over his shoulder, one corner of his mouth twitching up every now and then as Cooper recalls stories of failed auditions, other actors fumbling lines and cabin crew of both genders flirting with him on the flight over. As deep as the dread is in Blaine's stomach, his mind whirring at what the talk could be about this time, he's missed Cooper's tales and the sight of his brother bouncing on his feet, happy to be home and wanting to share every detail of his life, so he sits quietly in the car and listens, using the lulls in conversation to silently debate whether or not Cooper would be a good subject for a post on his blog.

* * *

It's ten in the evening before Cooper knocks on Blaine's door and leans against the doorframe, Blaine offering him a small smile and a jerk of his head to come in, sliding the book in his lap shut that he wasn't really reading.

Blaine shifts where he's sat and picks at his jeans as Cooper shuts the door and slides onto the bed, sitting against the headboard beside Blaine. Blaine watches as Cooper wiggles his toes and Blaine stretches his legs out, puffing out a breath of air when he realizes he hasn't grown _at all_ in the past year and Cooper's legs still look miles longer than his own. He then lolls his head to the side, Cooper looking back at him, and says, "You wanted to talk?"

"Mmm," Cooper hums, looking Blaine up and down, eyes fixing on his crotch for what Blaine deems _far _too long making him cough to get Cooper's attention. "You've grown," Cooper says when he meets Blaine's eyes.

Blaine snorts and shakes his head. "No, I hav-"

"So what's this high you've been in the middle of?"

Blaine can't even think to complain about the interruption because blood is now rushing past his ears in fast waves, his eyes have gone wide and he makes strangled sounds as he tries to speak, mouth forming shapes around words he can't find as Cooper just stares at him with a somewhat blank expression, blinking slowly.

"It's not steroids is it," Cooper continues, glancing down at Blaine's torso, sounding genuinely concerned and Blaine blinks owlishly at him, breathing heavy and quick, "because you have grown and bulked out but that is _not _the way to do it."

Blaine thunks his head back against his headboard and shuts his eyes as he covers his face with his hands, breathes, "Shit," into his palms, his face hot and he feels stupid, scared and embarrassed all at once.

If anyone in his family was going to find his blog, he would've chosen Cooper to be the one because he doesn't take anything too seriously and the worst he'd do is tease Blaine, which isn't a change from the normal, and Blaine can deal with that, with knowing Cooper hasn't judged and won't, will leave the subject alone once it's out and talked about, but they _do _have to talk about it and that's what's making Blaine squirm and pull his knees up to his chest, his chin resting in the dip between them.

"How long have you known?" he asks, mumbling quietly.

"Two, maybe three, weeks," Cooper says.

Blaine whips his head round with a raised eyebrow, says, "And you waited this long to tell me?"

Cooper shrugs and says, "I was waiting for more stuff to tease you with, but then you went all quiet," grinning when Blaine groans and hides his face in his knees. "Seriously though," he says and Blaine rests his temple on a knee, looking at Cooper with a weary expression, "does all that get you off? Talking about how much you love sex and posting up pictures of yourself?" He then hastens to add, "And you look good by the way," winking with a smirk.

Blaine can't help but laugh, the sound bursting from his throat loud and clear, and he dims it down to a snigger, mindful that his parents are asleep down the hall. It takes a few minutes to compose himself, a new fit of laughter hitting him every time he tries to meet Cooper's eyes but he eventually settles down and pushes his legs out, crossing one over the other and twiddling his thumbs in his lap as Cooper waits.

He opens and closes his mouth three times before he says, "It's not about getting off," searching for the words to explain this to someone who's grown up with the good-mannered, shy Blaine – someone quite different from the person he is on the inside, on his blog, where he keeps his thoughts about sex and his opinions about Ohio.

He wonders if Cooper is seeing him differently, trying to connect the child he knows – private, loyal, never swears even when he's angry – to the boy on the internet who's an exhibitionist and says fuck, shit and every other swearword he can think of, a complete change to the boy he is normally.

"It's about being me," he continues, "being accepted."

Cooper's eyebrows knit together and he says, "You don't think we accept you?" and Blaine hurries to shake his head and turn a little to face Cooper more comfortably because he can't stand the tone of Cooper's voice, sounding like he's disappointed someone.

"No, it's not here that's the problem – home, I mean," Blaine clarifies and Cooper nods, eyebrows still drawn. "I know that you all love me, you, Mom and Dad, and you would still love me if you knew about… that side of me, so it's not that, it's-"

"Kids at school," Cooper finishes, now sounding angry, his eyes darting away and Blaine watches his fists curl and uncurl, the line of his jaw rigid and hard too.

"It's not so much a problem anymore now that I've graduated," Blaine says, shrugging one shoulder, "but I like keeping it a secret to the people physically around me. It's kind of… funny, really." Cooper is looking at him now like he's not making sense and a corner of Blaine's mouth quirks up before he says, "It made me angry at first that everyone called me a virgin as an insult, treats me like I'm innocent, but now it's sort of funny because they don't know what I know and they'd be so _scandalized _if they saw everything I thought about."

Cooper snorts and says, "_Scandalized,_" with wide eyes, his hands up and fingers wriggling and Blaine swats at his arm and shakes his head.

"It's not about getting off," he says again, a repeat of earlier, because as much as Cooper's being silent and taking this in, that's the part Blaine needs to him to understand the most. "It's being in a place with people who understand what's in my head and the complexities of what I have to say."

"But is it complex?" Cooper says, tapping at his thigh before he saying, "'Cause I've seen your blog and read your posts and it just seems like you're a virgin with a healthy interest in sex." Blaine raises an eyebrow and Cooper rolls his eyes and tuts. "Fine, slightly more than healthy interest, but the point still stands. Is it so complex?"

Blaine considers him and thinks, then simply says, "Yes." He understands Cooper's point, that the basics of what he is is a virgin with a love for sex, exhibitionism and all that entails, but because of where they live and the attitudes of the Neanderthals at school, it _is _complex. In another state or city, New York or San Francisco maybe, he might not have had to look for like-minded people on the internet because they roam the streets and barely bat an eye at someone like Blaine, but here in Ohio where homophobia is on his doorstep, he can't be himself out loud, so he does it online where there's a world that took him in without question.

"People here don't understand," he says. "There's people _everywhere _that don't understand and will always see virgins as pure and naïve, sexually inexperienced minds that need to be 'taught' how sex is." He huffs and rocks his temple against the headboard. "Even if they do get it, they'll find me too clingy or call me desperate." He sighs. "Around here it's a losing battle to try and be who I really am. Online I'm simply normal. Accepted."

Cooper stretches in neck in the passing silence and exhales heavily through his nose, says, "You've always been the odd one of the family," and Blaine grins and feels his shoulders drop, the last string of tension he'd been holding cut loose.

"Just do me one thing," Cooper continues and Blaine hears the concern in his voice again, something serious about to be said, and he nods. "When you meet a guy in New York, don't rush into sex, okay?" He gives Cooper a look that says _I'm not an idiot _and Cooper says, "Look, I know that's what everyone says along with 'you're first time should be special,' but they're right," Blaine resists the urge to roll his eyes at that, "it should be special, with someone you care about."

"Coop-"

"You know what you want, you're not naïve or innocent, but you don't know about the emotionof sex until it's happening and you feel like you're going to explode." Blaine shuts his mouth and briefly considers the flash of hurt in Cooper's eyes, gone as soon as he says, "Don't do it just because you want to do it. Be ready, okay?"

"I-" Blaine stammers, a little struck dumb by Cooper's rushed cover of the subject, but he says, "I'll be careful," and tucks his legs closer under himself. Cooper smiles and ruffles Blaine's hair before he glances at his watch and slips off the bed, bopping Blaine and himself on the nose once again as he leaves with a quiet goodnight and Blaine frowns at his closed door once he's gone and then remembers, _Oh, New York_.

It doesn't take long for him to flit back to what Cooper's just said, about the emotion of sex and a special first time. Blaine's heard so many times in films about how 'special' a first time should be, with someone you love and when you're ready and it all seems such a cliché that never comes true. The horror stories of first times – awkward fumbles, ripped condoms, finishing too early – sound so much more likely because Blaine knows sex is messy, vulnerable and a tangle of limbs and a slide of sweat.

But that's where his problem lies. Knowing what sex _is _but not what it _does_.

He hasn't considered until now that there's an emotional disconnect on his blog between sexual attraction and the beat of his heart. It's all been sexual so far, his blood only thrumming faster at the pictures of beautiful boys, the videos of men in ecstasy, and there's been no like or love in the equation, no butterflies in his stomach due to want for companionship over hungry desire.

He wonders if that will ever change.

He's hopelessly in lust with this 'highinthemiddle,' but could he fall in love with him too? He doesn't know him past his username and the short comments, hasn't wanted him past a quick fuck (a few of those in fact), but Blaine knows how easily he gets enthralled and how quickly he could start to see something where there is nothing.

He's always been a romantic, fawning over romance novels and the perfection of true love in words and on screen, and he had a strange time at first placing that state of mind beside the one filled with sex, but he got there and works with a mix of the two, the romantic being the person he is to his family and the outside and the other being who he is online, though his want of wooing and sparks and butterflies does come through every once in a while.

His temples are starting to hurt as he thinks, ideas about lust turning to love and not knowing what will come of his desire for this anonymous boy starting to creep into a headache deep behind his eyes, and he slides down the bed until he's laying flat, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers drumming over his stomach, chest heaving up and deflating as he sighs and slips his eyes shut.

His mind somewhat slows in the dark and he's asleep within minutes, dreaming quick and fitfully until he wakes in a daze at three am, lazily strips down to his boxers and curses Cooper for always being so right and so puzzling and making him feel more complex than he was when they begun.


	5. Chapter 5

I had to take a couple of days away from this story so I didn't start hating it and writing it _terribly_just because I was at a block, so this is a little later than expected, but just think of it as the chapter having extra love and care.

* * *

**assofander:**

_Do we love first through faces and names, knowing the most we can about someone else, or do we love first through lust and want, the desire to fuck and bend with a person any which way?_

* * *

"Definitely lust."

Blaine flinches in his chair then slowly turns his head to his bedroom door where Cooper is leant against the doorframe, laptop in one hand as he trails a finger idly over the trackpad, one eyebrow perfectly arched as he reads.

"Cooper," Blaine growls, slamming his laptop lid shut and running a hand over his face. He doesn't even know why he's surprised Cooper's on his blog. It's not in Cooper's nature to give up blackmail material, even if in years to come Blaine may not care that people know. But he says, "Can you stop reading my blog?" anyway, in the hopes Cooper _might _listen this time.

Cooper grins, says, "Nope," and flops onto the bed with his laptop, ignoring Blaine's eye roll and loud huff, followed by a grumble of, "Of course you won't listen."

Blaine then eyes him, thinks he should be worried about the approving hums and nods Cooper keeps giving, and asks the question he didn't the other day, the one that should've been his first really. "How did you even find it, anyway?"

"Porn hunt," Cooper says with a shrug, clucking his tongue at something that comes up on his screen and Blaine's really starting to wonder what he's looking at. Specifically which blogs he's looking at if he's clicked through from Blaine's own. (He's also mindful of the new picture he posted yesterday – his ass spread wide with both hands, flash of the camera reflecting the shine of lube around his stretched rim).

Then Blaine's eyes go wide and he says, "You're straight," sounding just a little incredulous.

Enough so that a quick, sharp laugh bursts from Cooper's throat before he says, "Anal sex isn't just for gay men," and Blaine's face scrunches up into a mixture of a cringe, slight disgust and confusion that's been drawing his brow down for a minute or so. Cooper gives him a brief glance and says, "You're blog came up on a search."

Blaine's still confused because he's so, so careful not to give out personal details online and the only _slight _hint of who he is is his username, his mentions of Ohio and the pictures (and considering he doesn't walk around naked, he's not too bothered about being recognized). So he asks, "How did you know it was me?" and Cooper stares at him blankly.

"You're my brother," he says and Blaine rolls his eyes because that's maddeningly obvious. It still doesn't explain why Cooper knew it was him from pictures of him naked and hard (and while Blaine's an exhibitionist, he's not sure that extends to his relatives watching him). "I'd recognize your tone of writing anywhere." Cooper's eyes flick to the floor at the end of Blaine's bed. "And that raggedy bit of carpet from where you scrubbed too hard trying to get out a wine stain after the first time I gave you alcohol."

Blaine looks at the piece of carpet in question – at the foot of his bed, frayed and bleached lighter than the rest – and says, "Oh," when he remembers that's where he stood to take his first picture, not caring about the floor or even contemplating that it would lead to this.

He's about to ask if his writings that obviously him when Cooper sucks in a breath and a grin spreads across his face, big and wide and Blaine really doesn't like it.

"You have a message," Cooper says, eyes fixed on his laptop screen and Blaine thinks that if he were stood up he'd be bouncing on his feet, he looks so giddy.

Then Blaine says, "Wait, what?" frowning and scrambling onto the bed, hauling Cooper's laptop onto his legs and cursing under his breath when he's settled.

Of course Cooper hacked into his blog.

"It's your own fault," Cooper says to Blaine's narrowed eyes, his hands up in defense. "You should choose your passwords better. I mean, 'teenagedream,' Blaine? Really?"

Blaine ignores him, deciding that they're already in this far and Cooper never does things by halves, and clicks through to his inbox, heart jumping to his throat and something twisting hot and a little terrifying in his stomach when he reads, Cooper saying, "Oh my God," beside him as he sees the username 'highinthemiddle' grey and bright on the screen, the words, "Middle of a high" falling from his mouth in a sort of whisper a moment later and Blaine still ignores him.

He remembers his creeping headache from two nights ago, pressing hard behind his eyes as he thought about how easily he falls from want into affection because of something shared (music tastes or a favourite food and he's convinced they're the one) or something said so perfectly he stumbles over himself to hear more.

The latter seems to have come into play as he reads and rereads the black words on the screen, _I look at you and feel dizzying lust and the desire to see you bend but I read your words and want to see your face, know your name and understand everything that's made you who are. Does it matter which came first if I am round at both ends? _because they sound so thought out and well crafted, the exact parallel of this boys pictures that look like art, like he's _meant_ to send Blaine into a tailspin, falling falling crashing.

Blaine hasn't felt the crash though, the rupturing explosion he's experienced before when he's realized _oh it was all on me. I made this all up in my head_.

Instead he's simply falling, unsure if he's going to stop, because this is what he's wanted since he first saw this boy's blog and since Cooper's talk the other night. He's wanted acknowledgement that he isn't fawning too much, that maybe this boy looks a little too hard at him too, and in turn he's no longer afraid of a disconnect between his heart and his desire – he thinks he _likes _this boy, perhaps more than he should, but one single message that's got Blaine saying _yes, love is both, a mixture of wanting and knowing_, has knocked him full force into true interest and care alongside the obvious hunger he harbors for this boy.

He blinks and takes a shuddering breath, settles his pounding heart, when Cooper says, "I know that face," voice wary, the very sound of Blaine's mind if it could talk, because as much as Blaine's wanted this – _wants _this - he's still terrified and his minds a blur of _slow down, it's just a boy, don't mistake lust for more_.

But he's past that now isn't he? He's past listening to the small voice that tells him no because this boy was perfection in pictures before, only an abstract view, but now he's perfection in words too, speaking in a frightening echo of Blaine's own thoughts and he seems like everything Blaine wants in all ways.

"Blaine," Cooper says, sighs really, sounding dejected and then Blaine _knows _he's gone, lost in ridiculous desire for a boy that only exists in the pixels on his screen, because if Cooper can see it on his face so well, he knows he's in deep. "I don't like this."

Blaine can't help the snort that bursts out and jolts his head because how odd is it that Cooper's fine with him being exposed and overtly sexual online but has a problem with him meeting someone on there?

Okay, it's not conventional through a dating site, it started with lust and just a little affection that's grown, but Blaine can't see it as more unsafe than viewing this boy's profile on one of many hundreds of sites then meeting him blindly in a street corner café – he's certain desire would spark through him first anyway and how's that different from what's happened here? He might have known the boys face, known his name, but the order in which he wanted wouldn't have changed. Of that Blaine is certain.

He turns to Cooper, who's frowning and watching him with cautious intent, and says, "What's the harm?"

Cooper presses an index finger and thumb to his eyes and takes a deep breath, his chest and shoulders rising and falling heavily with it, then takes his hand away and blinks steadily for a moment, says, "Can you tell me what you're thinking? In simple terms?" He scratches at his jaw. "I might not like it but I'm trying to understand what's going on here."

Blaine nods and sets the laptop at the end of the bed, starts with, "I've talked to him quite a bit and we message each other about our pictures. It's like tame cybersex." One corner of his mouth quirks up the same as Cooper's and he continues, "There's a lot of dirty talk but sometimes he'll say something about one of my text posts and it's like he gets it." He duck his head, fiddles with a button on his shirt and says quieter, "It's like he gets _me_… and I've been scared that I'm getting too attached but that message just now made me think-" He pauses and looks up at Cooper. "Why am I scared? Is it so wrong to like that connection and want more of it?" He glances at the laptop. "I know he does now."

Cooper rubs at the back of his neck and says, "Are you sure you're not… grappling?" waving his hand about aimlessly and dropping it to his lap when Blaine frowns at him. "I know you get lonely and that no one in this state seems to get you so are you wanting a connection with this guy just to make up for that? Is it like a last thread? Because you're off to New York soon and things are different there, Blaine." He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I don't want you thinking this could be something when maybe nothing will come of it and-"

"But what if there _will _be something?" Blaine says, voice too pleading to his own ears.

He understands what Cooper's saying, feels that all too familiar headache thumping at his temples, but he really _likes _this boy, gorgeous body aside, and this feels like something good happening for once. He's so used to being knocked down, literally most of the time, that he can't deny he's clinging to this like a lifeline, but it feels nothing like compensation or an ego boost. It feels like a new start, a new friend and maybe something more.

So he says, "Let me talk to him, okay? Let me get to know him," still sounding too whiny and desperate that he wants to cringe because he's eighteen, legally an adult, and he feels ridiculous having to justify who he likes to his own brother, yet he feels a warm tug at his heart knowing Cooper cares this much.

Cooper shifts to sit up straighter, wriggling his toes out in front of him and clearing his throat before he says, "If I say be careful, you're going to roll your eyes, aren't you?"

Blaine laughs on a breath and awkwardly throws himself half across Cooper to give him a hug, rolling back and rubbing at his temple when they're done, pressure easing from his whole body.

"Can I say it anyway?" Cooper then says and Blaine shoves at his shoulder so hard he almost topples off the bed, Cooper's arms windmilling as he tries to steady himself, grabbing out for a pillow and whopping Blaine with it, laughing loudly all the while.

"Go away," Blaine grumbles as he snorts and giggles, kicking out at Cooper's shin until he ungracefully swings his legs off the bed and rights himself with a salute at the end, to which Blaine throws a pillow at him for.

They're laughter dims and fades soon after that and Blaine resists the urge to roll his eyes and smiles small but genuine instead when Cooper heads for the door then turns and looks at him fondly and says, "Be careful," before slipping away into the hall and slamming his bedroom door the same way he has for years.

Blaine feels a lot like he did those few nights ago, suddenly alone with his thoughts in an empty room, but something's different in the way he's not confused this time. This time he's certain of his heart being where his head is, no matter how complicated and ridiculous this whole thing may seem, and he can't stop smiling and fidgeting with his hands, fingers anxious to type something back to the boy who's taken him without knowing.

He's grabs the laptop and hunches down over it in his lap, fingers hovering and stretching out over keys as he thinks about how he's always thrown aside stories about people meeting online then in person and becoming life long friends. He remembers humming suspiciously at those who got married and looked so and he now thinks himself stupid because isn't that what he's doing here?

He's not looking for marriage or a soul mate, that was never his original intention with his blog, but we he came looking for something. He almost certainly wanted a friend or a few and he's found those people, talks to them regularly about musicals, football, sex if the topic strays that way, and it was a surprise when he found himself turning head first into something more for this 'highinthemiddle.'

It was just pure hunger at the beginning, a little bet of begging to hear more of the boy's fantasies while Blaine typed out his own and then stroked himself tight and fast to completion, picturing everything he said – arched backs, curled toes, finger marks and bruising kisses all over his skin – and he'd never expected it to be anymore. He wonders if this is how the people who are together started.

They may not have had a borderline obsessive love for sex and could've bonded over pictures of rolling countryside and old fashioned cars, but there's still some version of hunger or craving, the want to keep a connection with this person through the thing you both adore the most and when it came down to it they found that love really does come in all forms, growing through broadband and colored pixels and steadily ebbing into their hearts.

Blaine's the same as them all – his connection just happens to be through sex, exhibitionism and a joint struggle to be who they are and accepted and while he _really _didn't come online to find the one or anyone, he's not going to run or scoff and say, "I laughed at those stories, I can't find truth in one myself."

He's going to grab and cling fiercely to the opportunity to know someone so in tune with his mind and body and he can only play with chance and wait and watch to find if he'll have his own story as friends or soul mates (he doesn't care to admit out loud how the last option makes him flush and hope).

So he types, _Ask me who I am and why I'm this way and I won't hesitate to let you know. Ask me anything and I'll answer because I want you both ways too, _and plays with chance and waits and watches.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **This chapter was always going to happen this way since I first saw this prompt. I can only hope it isn't a flop.

* * *

Blaine goes to the gym.

His mind's a bit fuzzy and he hasn't left the house all summer except to pick Cooper up from the airport and to sit out in the garden and read in the sun so he slings his backpack over his shoulder (filled with a change of clothes, a towel and his hair products) and throws a goodbye over his shoulder before stepping out into the morning warmth, the front door clicking shut behind him.

Starting in sophomore year, he would to go to the gym at school everyday (after hours of course – the emptier the place, the better) to dart around the punching bag and savour the feeling of anger trickling out through the sweat dampening his skin. It was a coping mechanism really. If he didn't punch at the hard surface of the bag and shuffle his feet around the floor, legs in constant movement and breathing quick, harsh and rapid, he was certain his fist would collide with someone's face, his feet and legs moving as they ran instead. No matter how much hitting one of the Neanderthal's at school would've helped, just to see the shock on their face and to feel power for once, he thought it better to take everything out on the equipment which left no blood on his hands.

It worked for him too. He'd spend an hour or more (shorter if he was drained, longer if he was pissed off) after school punching out until his arms ached and he knew he'd be sore in the morning. He'd wake up and ignore that sensation though because despite the slow throb of his muscles throughout the day, he'd go again and keep himself from lashing out at a person and making his life more miserable than it was. If anything, he got fitter and the chubby faced gay freshman that was an easy target - so skinny, so small – was gone in place of muscles and compact definition which made a few back off a little and a couple leave him alone entirely after witnessing him throw punches one day, direct and brutal.

He didn't become a threat to anyone, he was never going to have power or anything that looked remotely like respect, but the physical abuse stopped coming from those just following the lead. The jocks that were lower down the ladder kept to hurling verbal abuse instead of shoving because that privilege was left to the top dogs (and wild dogs they were in Blaine's eyes – savages whose bark could be just as hard as their bite) and Blaine felt just a _little _smug because it meant he wasn't as weak as they or he first thought.

For three years he kept going to the gym, keeping himself in shape and spending extra long on the weights (when he got to using them junior year) if he missed a day. He suspects his Mom knows why he's gone today or at least has some idea he's feeling out of sorts and needs fresh air and to blow off steam because she never questioned his daily use of the gym, only smiled and offered him a drink or a quick snack when he got home. She knew he had a hard time at school, she tried to help more than once by asking if she could do anything or talk to the faculty but Blaine turned her down knowing it was a useless battle they'd never win, and by now Blaine knows she must understand what the gym is to him – an escape, a reprieve and sometimes anger management.

It's a long but nice walk to the gym he uses over summer and the holidays. It's still in Lima, but quite a way across town, past his school and past another (which his Mom offered to transfer him to end of sophomore year) and he likes the time to himself to either plug in his iPod or to walk in silence, smiling and watching the kids that are out playing, remembering when he was young and nothing mattered except colouring inside the lines (although he had a habit of flouting that rule – even as a child he didn't see the adventure in being normal).

He discovered the gym start of the Christmas holidays his junior year. He was still irate over the end of term 'wreak havoc on the weak kids' school tradition and his parents were busy fussing over the annual Christmas party and Cooper was away, not due to fly in until early morning on Christmas Eve, so he'd gone for a run, braving the December air in tracksuits and a t-shirt, and gone a little too far only to find himself outside a tire shop he'd used once or twice when his car was playing up.

The owner had seen him outside, hunched over and catching his breath, puffs of white air coming from his mouth, and eyed his hard set jaw and red face and asked if he'd wanted a drink or to take a seat. He did so with a grateful smile and a large swig of the offered bottle of water and left ten minutes later with the information that the man ran a small but clean and modern gym above the shop and he was welcome to use it for a cheap fee if he needed to.

He'd gone back three days later, bag slung over his shoulder much like it is now, and handed over a wad of money, enough to pay for two years of usage, and never looked back. The man hadn't been quite right when he'd said small – there was plenty of space between the equipment and a window that took up one wall (tinted so it can only be seen out of, not in) made it seem bigger – but he'd been spot on with the clean and modern. It was as good, if not better, than his school gym. Everything was state of the art and worked perfectly and every user was friendly and didn't bat an eyelid if they found out he was gay – that was the modern part Blaine _really _liked.

He's on first name terms and pretty friendly with most of the regulars now, even if he only sees them during holidays or the rare evenings he jogs over and it strikes him as he walks through the tire shop and waves to let someone know he's here that they're the only physical people he knows that he could class as friends. A lot of them are mid twenties or going on mid thirties so they're more casual acquaintances then friends and he may be closer and know more about the people on his blog than he does them. But he forgets the nuances and strange quirks of his life as he slips into the changing room (light with power showers and perfectly clean facilities) and puts his shorts and faded Beatles t-shirt on. When he comes back out, rolls his shoulders and sets to work on the punch bag in the far corner by the window, summer sun hitting the side of his face as he goes, he listens to the rhythmic thud of his fists and thinks.

He thinks about his blog and how it started, how different he is and how things have changed since two months ago. He thinks about Cooper and everything he's said, especially concerning his infatuation with 'highinthemiddle.'

Once Cooper had left his room three days ago he'd felt fine and had messaged the boy back, the conversation continuing over the next couple of days. They'd discussed the intricacies of relationships, the balance of love against lust and how much you can know or _want _to know a person. Every word the boy had said had simply drawn Blaine deeper and left him floating in a happy haze (something he hadn't experienced for a while, so he savored it).

As he punches out – right, left, double right – he considers Cooper's concerns again. He never wants to dismiss anything Cooper says, he trusts his brother implicitly, so he runs over their conversation, remembers the sound of Cooper's voice, worried and defeated, and the deep knit of his brow. He knows what Cooper's scared of and it crosses his own mind every now and then that he's clinging too hard to this… thing he has with this boy and soon it could all crumble and become nothing, leaving him down by one person who understands him, another person who's let him down and doesn't wish to know him.

But he feels safe when he speaks to the boy. He's told him his fantasies and some secrets, they've seen each other's bodies at their most vulnerable (albeit through a computer screen) and there's so much common ground between them over being gay teenagers, romantics, exhibitionists and lonely but for one or two they let in that he can't feel anything other than sure and himself when they speak.

He hasn't brought up how he feels with the boy yet, though he suspects he knows. Blaine's never been one for subtlety and while it's been a weakness in the past (his sense of fashion and love of musicals outed him at school) it's not done any harm here. If the boy does know how deep into this Blaine is, how much he just _wants_, then he's said nothing and when Blaine gets a hint of returned affections, he does the same – says nothing.

Their silent understanding works for them and while Blaine is itching to say _meet me, give me your number, tell me your name, just give me something, _he doesn't want to shatter the wall of their computer screens that sits between them and break the peace and good thing they have. He wants to know the boys name and know everything about him but he still worries that going from nameless and faceless to no anonymity at all will ruin everything, make it all the more real and little more scary. He likes the mystery they have and they way they seem to dance around each other and put it off – it's like something fun in the mix of everything serious they discuss and Blaine doesn't know if taking the secret away would be a relief or make everything plain boring.

He keeps punching.

The ache in his arms seems to dull that headache that is _yet again _pressing in from all sides. He's starting to tire of the constant tension in his head but he knows if he doesn't think about all of this – the blog, the boy, Cooper's impending New York talk which is yet to happen or be mentioned – he'll have a full blown migraine and a very much less than sunny disposition for the following few days.

He keeps punching. For at least an hour, maybe more. No one bothers him as he goes and if anyone does say a quick hello or pat him on the shoulder as they pass, he grunts a reply or flashes them a quick grin (that he hopes doesn't look menacing or more like grimace). He's glad he found this place because it's like a haven for him during the holidays if he's stressed and as he finishes up and lifts the bottom of his vest up to wipe at the sweat on his forehead, swatting out when Jay (another regular user he's come to know quite well) slaps at his stomach on his way by, he has to smile at how much lighter he feels. He misses that surge of accomplishment when he can't work out everyday so he lets it run through him and settle deep as he slips back into the changing room and flops down on a bench to catch his breath.

He stares at the ceiling for a good five minutes, his head tilted back and blinking slow and steady until his hearts stopped pounding and his sweats cooled to a damp moisture. He blindly grabs for his towel and swipes it over his face, rubbing extra hard at his temples where he's aching and dropping his head back forward when he takes the towel away.

His breath catches in his throat as the towel drops and he actually chokes on air, muffling the sound in his towel and staring wide-eyed across the room in a panic.

He's pretty sure he's actually _stuck _to the bench with fear and confusion and couldn't move if he wanted to. He's not sure if he does want to move and he's not sure of anything as he barely blinks as he watches the boy across the room in jeans and nothing else roll his neck and rummage through his bag, his back to Blaine but _oh God _Blaine knows who it is from just the small, pale pink scar about two inches long running diagonally down left from the middle of his spine.

He's seen that scar in black and white and sepia and colour, enlarged and bright on his computer screen while he shamelessly adores every muscle and curve of the boy it belongs to. He's imagined running his tongue over it to see if it's flat to the skin or forms a ridge, to see if it tastes different to the other skin, to see if it would make it's owner squirm and before he can even stop himself or pretend to entertain the idea that that _isn't _who he thinks it is, he blurts, "Highinthemiddle," in a rush of air, then claps a hand over his mouth and he thinks he might be hyperventilating.

It only gets worse when the boy freezes and straightens up and Blaine thinks that in another situation he might be getting hard watching the shift of muscles in his back and seeing in real life the delicate curve of his torso as it dips into a small waist but right now he's too mortified and red in the face for any blood to disappear down south. He waits in horrified, anxious silence and squeaks quiet in his throat when the boy turns slowly and says, "Excuse me?" with an arch of his eyebrow and something like accusation and a little bewilderment in his voice.

And boy does he have a lovely voice. Blaine's always suspected he's had a lovely everything after poring over pictures of him for hours and it is _definitely _the same boy. He has the same broad shoulders and toned torso, barely there pecs and abdominals with just a little bit of soft around his belly button that Blaine wants to nuzzle and kiss at and lick over and _now is not the time._

He doesn't know what now _is _the time for because he can't even find anything to say or do. He's dropped his hand and is gaping ridiculously, trying _so, so _hard not to look away from the boys face. He's seen it all before, seen below the waistband of those jeans, but now it's here in front of him and he was so right to be frightened of breaking the barrier between the internet and real life because this is _terrifying_.

He wants to _wreck _the boy in front of him right now – curve his hands around that tiny waist and leave fingermarks, kiss across his collarbone and bite at his shoulders – and _be _wrecked by him. Having those thoughts in the privacy of his room and over the internet is entirely different from having them across from a boy he thinks he might be a little in love with, strange meeting aside.

Speaking of strange meeting, Blaine's now dizzy with _why here, why now in a gym above a tire shop in Ohio? _He doesn't understand how that can be a coincidence. It's a one in a million chance the boy would be here, yet here he is and Blaine swears nothing has hinted that the boy lives nearby.

It's there though, in the back of Blaine's mind, nagging and biting at him until his breath picks up rapidly and he remembers the message that had Cooper worried. The one that didn't really make much sense at the end but Blaine was too caught up and overwhelmed and busy explaining to pay attention. The one that said _Does it matter which came first if I'm round at both ends _and isn't that how to throw Blaine off? Put something so important and breaking in a message where he's bound to ignore it because everything before it is like Christmas come early.

He blinks up at the boy, swallows and tries to clear his throat but the lump is too big so that when he speaks he sounds cut off and far away. He says, "High in the middle, round at both ends," and still manages to sound a little awed and the boy only frowns, says, "Excuse me?" again. Blaine somehow grits out the words again, says, "Ohio," at the end and waits for recognition, some flash of something to let him know the boy sees him too.

Instead four simple words accompanied by a drawn brow and a tilt of a head (with such a _pretty _face on it) crash straight into Blaine's chest with the force of a truck.

"Do I know you?"

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**Hello, cliffhanger.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Quick apology for the lack of porn in this lately, but some is on the way soon - Blaine's hard to shut up when he's inner monologuing. Eternal thanks to Rosie (turnthedarkness on LJ) who read this through for me and gave me the incentive to finish it.**

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Something's been screaming inside Blaine's head since 'highinthemiddle' looked at him but didn't_ see_ him. It wasn't a casual, questioning, "Do I know you from somewhere?" – it was complete confusion and a blind eye. The boy had no idea who he was and Blaine could think of nothing else to do but run. He'd grabbed his bag and he'd ran down the stairs and out of the garage, hadn't stopped until he'd got home and to his room where he'd slid to the floor against his door and cried.

He hadn't known why he was crying, not really. He'd felt upset, a little rejected, but he'd almost turned back twice on the way home because why should he have been recognized? He'd mentioned the message but who says the boy remembered it as much as Blaine? Who ever said it wasn't all some stupid internet crush and _god _Blaine had gotten too deep, too fast – he had hated to admit it, but Cooper was right to be scared for him. He felt broken. In an odd way he felt used and that thought had started the screaming, the pressure in his ears and the constant stream of _idiot idiot idiot _running round his head. Running seems to be a theme with him these days and he's starting to regret every fast, pounding step – every time he stops he's where he started: confusion, anger, loss.

He hasn't been near his blog. He can't bear to face it because it all seems like such a joke now. He feels like he's been laughed at, like some kid has been running it this whole time and just wanted to watch Blaine's heart break for kicks – he knows that's not true of course. The boy in the gym couldn't have been anyone other than the boy behind the screen. He was the perfection Blaine's seen in pixels, in person, and no one could pretend to be so beautiful or articulate.

It makes Blaine ache even more when he remembers the lithe, pale boy he saw in the changing room. He was better than in the pictures and actually _real_. It was like a kick to the head and a skipping beat of his heart that had made Blaine dizzy with the want to touch, taste, smell just to know he was solid and true. It hurts to think of him now though – how can Blaine not continue curl up and cry and curse the internet when the boy of his dreams isn't who he thought? He's on his bed at this moment, knees pressed to his chest by the ring of his arms and his eyes are red and stinging with three days worth of tears.

The state he's in feels a little pathetic – losing sleep, not eating and all for a boy. He's in love though (as stupid as it may be to love a boy who's name you don't know and who can't remember you after months) and he's heard of people doing worse. But he can't kick the feeling that this entire thing is pathetic – his blog, the pictures, the videos, the messages.

He was grappling really, just like Cooper said. The moment he'd set the blog up he was clawing for attention and friends and when 'highinthemiddle' came along, a boyfriend. It's like _everything _Cooper said was right. All Cooper's worries and fears were valid and Blaine wants to hate him for it but he hates himself more for not listening. It's not that he ignored Cooper (he never would), he just let his heart and cock get in front of his head.

There's been rare (more likely never) opportunities for Blaine to let his cock be a decider. He spent every year of school being gay and trying not to show it, so while the jocks and cheerleaders skipped out on practices or even class to have a fuck under the bleachers, Blaine could never ditch even a study period to get a quick handjob or less. So when the time rolled around when he could get hard and not have to ignore it, could say, "Forget what's important, I want sex," his head was overruled before he knew it. And in turn, Cooper was overruled.

The man himself appears just as Blaine is wiping away a fresh wave of tears and to be honest Blaine's surprised it's taken him this long to come to him. Cooper's the only one who's ever dared come into Blaine's room when he tells everyone to keep out. Blaine's usually glad Cooper flouts the rule because he usually needs to hear what Cooper has to say, but not today. He's heard it all before, didn't listen and now it's come round to laugh in his face. He wouldn't blame Cooper if he actually _did _laugh – it's not funny, not in the slightest, but it'll be sweet retribution for Cooper.

Cooper sits instead, doesn't look like he's going to crack a smile or a smirk and Blaine shakes his head and hopes Cooper says nothing. Apparently he didn't understand because he says, "It's all fucked isn't it?" and Blaine thinks he's talking about his blog and the boy but he can never be sure with Cooper. He finds out he's right when Cooper sighs and says, "I told you so."

Those four words are what Blaine didn't need to hear the most. He knows they're true and Cooper did tell him so. He told Blaine he was clinging to this thing too hard and he told him to be careful and Blaine heard but didn't do. He deserves what Cooper's said – it doesn't make it any easier to hear though. It makes him angry, if anything, and he rolls onto his other side so his back's to Cooper, ignores how childish he must sound when he huffs. This would be less painful if he _were_ a child and boys went back to having cooties.

"Blaine," Cooper sighs (at least his fourth one since he entered the room). "What happened?"

"You told me so," Blaine snaps, the effect of it mostly lost as it comes out hoarse and quiet. He hasn't spoken in three days.

"I told you a lot of things, Blaine." Cooper's biting back and it makes Blaine hold himself tighter. "I told you to be careful and I can tell by the state of you and the frankly disgusting smell in here that you haven't been."

"It's not my fault!" Blaine says (he tried to yell, but his throat is dry), rolling back over and sitting up, and he's as shocked as Cooper is by his outburst because that's the first time he's said that about this situation. He's been thinking everything is his fault – he fell for looks too quickly and intelligence faster after that – but now he's said it isn't, he finds himself angry at 'highinthemiddle.'

Who was he to talk to Blaine like he did? Who was he to post more pictures and videos that he knew would drag Blaine in further? Who was he to care little when Blaine cared too much? Who the hell_ is _he?

Blaine thought he knew the answer to the last one, the most important one. He thought he understood the boy and had found a boy who understood him. He doesn't know what he thinks anymore. The boy he's fawned over for months, talked to, connected with and seen spread, flushed and sated on his screen, isn't the boy he saw at the gym. They're the same physical being, he was definitely in the pictures, yet he's not who Blaine knows. Or thought he knew.

Cooper asks him what happened again and Blaine doesn't want to tell him because it'll be another slap to the face to relive it, but he's tired and riled up so he explains. He tells Cooper about every new message and picture they shared (he spares the graphic details and leaves out the part about the video he made), tells him how he thinks he loves the boy, tells him how he went to gym to think things through and that his world fell from under him in two minutes flat. Cooper says nothing as he speaks, just watches. It's a little unnerving.

Cooper then says, "Has he messaged you?" and Blaine resists the urge to punch him and say how that's the last thing he cares about right now. He cares about finding his life again. But he shrugs and Cooper's up and has Blaine's laptop before Blaine can lift a heavy arm and try to stop him.

The sight of the blog, out of focus to Blaine's sleep deprived eyes, makes Blaine curl in on himself again. It's a reminder of why he's like he is right now – unshowered and verging on depressed. He shuts his eyes when Cooper clicks on his inbox, flashing with any number of messages, none of which he wants to read. He only feels worse when Cooper taps his shoulder and says, "It's him." He doesn't open his eyes or move and he's willing his curiosity not to win. His anger at the nerve of the boy to even _think _about talking to him is taking hold at the moment but the voice in his head telling him to read it isn't backing down. It's starting to shout and it feels like a thunderstorm in his skull alongside the constant screaming pressure he's had for days.

When Cooper says, "He's gone," confused, Blaine peeks an eye open and hums quietly like he doesn't care, but it ends up sounding like a question. "His blogs sort of… gone," Cooper says and Blaine can't help it anymore – he's interested. So he sits up and peers at the screen and blinks slowly as if he'll look long enough and hard enough and the blank, empty blog he can now see, a ghost of the one he's seen so much of, will come back to life.

It's strange, to say the least, that the boy's blog looks like it's gone back to factory settings – the default theme, no picture, no profile, no nothing. There's no posts at all and Blaine's starting to wonder if he imagined the whole thing and Cooper just played along to make him happy, but then Cooper says, "It was there yesterday." Blaine had forgotten in the past few weeks that Cooper had hacked him and he should of changed his password, but he forgot to do that too. And if Cooper's been on it in the past days, Blaine's _really _surprised it took him so long to come to him – it must've been obvious by Blaine's silence on his blog that something was up.

Blaine almost tuts when he realizes why Cooper was so quiet while he explained his red eyes and three-day-stubble-covered jaw – he's been watching the entire conversation between Blaine and the boy. He already knows everything that's been said, seen every picture (Blaine hopes he didn't watch the video) and only needed to hear the very end, the real life part. Blaine thinks he should feel violated but he's bored of being angry and he has to be fair to Cooper – he's been nothing but understanding – so he says, "What does the message say?" and tries his hardest not to sound _too _interested. Cooper's side eye tells him it didn't work.

The message is the first up when Cooper clicks back to the inbox and it says _Lima Bean: Friday, 6pm. I'm sorry. _It's not what Blaine was expecting at all, wouldn't be on the list if there was one, and he's thrown. He stares at the screen, hardly blinks and wonders why in the hell the boy would ask Blaine to meet him. Their first meeting was a disaster and Blaine knows for certain now the boy was him so the assumption Blaine will meet him pisses him off, if he's honest. Does the boy just want to humiliate him further? Attempt an apology (_"Sorry I didn't recognize you, I was just playing with you all along" _Blaine imagines)? Whatever he has to say, Blaine doesn't think he wants to hear it.

"Don't go," Cooper says and that just makes Blaine _want _to go. It's stupid teenage rebellion and while Cooper's not actually saying it or showing it, Blaine's certain he's enjoying being right. So Blaine feels like he needs to prove something now – it's as if he can go meet this boy (no matter how much he doesn't want to because he can't take another twist of his heart, a punch to the gut) and by some miracle the thing in the gym was a misunderstanding, the boy needed a moment to recollect him, and Cooper will be wrong.

He's so torn. A part of him wants to see the boy to get an explanation (a damn good one he hopes) and an apology (that better be damn good too) and he doesn't dare to think where things would go after that (his cock betrays him of course and stirs at the thought of pale skin and a perfect ass). But he also wants to ignore the boy and not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much Blaine cried and hurt and broke. The first option is winning out as Cooper stares him down. It's a horrible attempt at intimidation on Cooper's part and Blaine feels stupidly like he's won something (though he's sure he'll come to regret it) when he snatches the laptop, hits reply and types, _I'll be there_.

Cooper doesn't say a word or make a sound or even look at Blaine as he gets up and leaves the room with a slam of the door and Blaine breathes deep and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

He doesn't want to cry again but he can feel tears coming and the tremble of his chin as he grits his jaw and tries to stop it says his cheeks will be damp again, soon enough. He eventually lets it come and wonders why he's crying at all – he thinks it's the blatant betrayal of Cooper's trust that's making him choke and impending fear of what he'll find at the Lima Bean on Friday. It's two days away and he thinks he might scare himself out of the idea before then and he stares through blurry eyes at his blog, the last picture of him sated, limp and covered in come staring back at him.

He feels nothing as he looks at it – the usual thrill and quirk of a smile he gets isn't there and it's just another thing he's lost this week. He wonders if he'll ever get back to the boy he was before the gym – happy, in love (he hates that he still feels that a little), living – and it pains him to think that he wont. He's still that boy underneath the self-hatred and disheartened appearance and he still wants everything he did before – friends, acceptance, what's really become masturbation fodder and cybersex. He wants to kick himself when he realizes he also still wants the boy, in any way he can have him, even after the heartbreak.

And what's more, he doesn't think he'll ever stop.


	8. Chapter 8

**Warnings: Exhibitionism. And from this chapter onwards, mentions of Kurtbastian (this is where I lose readers who don't like that, isn't it?)**

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Blaine arrives at the Lima Bean dot on six o'clock knows without a doubt that this conversation is going to be unrelentingly hard (and not in a good, cock hard way). He sees 'highinthemiddle' without having to search him out – he's not easy to miss. He's sat side on to Blaine and he's graceful where he's sat, posture straight and forearms on the table, hands around a cup of coffee but what caught Blaine's eye is his clothes. They're _phenomenal_. Perfectly shaped to his body, tight black jeans that hug every muscle of thighs and a blue jacket with double black buttons, artfully covered at the neck with a scarf. He looks as good in clothes as out of them, just as confident too, and Blaine barely had time to register the boy's sharp jawline and frankly _gorgeous _face the other day and he suddenly feels so stupidly small and inferior – to what he doesn't know.

He approaches slowly, hesitates in the middle of the store over whether he should get himself a drink or a snack (he skipped breakfast, he was so nervous) and decides he'll go without because this conversation could be over in five minutes. Or five hours. He's starting look silly stood alone and darting his gaze between the boy and the counter so he starts forward and twists his hands nervously, debates the whole way to the table when it gets too late to turn away. That time is when the boy looks up and spots Blaine hovering a couple of steps away. Blaine avoids his eyes, resists the urge to cross his arms across his chest, no matter how defensive, angry and confused he feels, until the boy says, "Uh, assofander?" and Blaine's never been so embarrassed of that username until now. But he nods and sits down, hugs himself tight, clears his throat and finally meets the boy's gaze and _oh god _his eyes are so pretty and bright blue. Blaine can see this whole crazy thing going awry so quickly – he's losing concentration already and hates how much his heart is pounding and how much he wants to kiss those pink lips when he _really shouldn't_.

He's been preparing himself for this meeting all day but he can see everything's going to fail him now. He woke up early to the sound of Cooper snoring obnoxiously loud next door, like he only does when he's got hayfever in the height of summer, and Blaine was also hard for the first time in days. But the moment he'd reached down it had wilted away. He's had complete apathy for anything sexual recently and he's been extra grumpy because getting off is his stress relief in lieu of not having the gym to go to everyday. So when he'd tried to get going, he felt nothing and could only yawn and fear for his impending disaster of an evening. He skipped breakfast and almost lunch, if it wasn't for Cooper shoving a bag of crisps in his face and demanding he eat them because _I think you're an idiot, Blaine, but eat something or you'll faint_. It was progress that Cooper was talking to him (it had been awkward glances and attempted apologies (on Blaine's side) for a while) and it made Blaine feel a little better, having Cooper back on his side and they'd spent a few hours until five pm talking about what Blaine should and shouldn't say and what was going on in his head. The answer to the latter wasn't easy. Blaine's been a mess (still is, really) and all the time with Cooper, preparing for this conversation in the Lima Bean, seems useless now as he sits across from a beautiful boy that he wants to punch and kiss all at once. He can't remember a single thing Cooper said so everything's all the more terrifying and he still feels faint, no matter how much food Cooper made him eat.

"So, uh, this is awkward."

Blaine blinks, thinks _no shit, Sherlock_, and almost says it out loud, snapping his mouth shut at the last minute. Instead, he says, "Who are you?" which isn't what he meant to say but what he wanted to say, and apparently he can't keep those two apart right now. This boy just makes him _want_ – in every sense, it seems.

"Oh, I- I'm Kurt." He looks like he wants to reach his hand out for Blaine to shake and Blaine stops him by pointedly crossing his arms and slumping back in his chair. It's childish, Blaine knows, but the boy's (_Kurt's_) lips press into a thin line and his shoulders sag – somehow, it makes Blaine feel accomplished, like he can make Kurt feel at least a fraction of his hurt and embarrassment. And at least Blaine now has a name to hate, or at least _really _dislike, now. A name and an unfairly gorgeous face – strong jaw, smooth skin, blue eyes that bore deeper into Blaine than he likes - which is staring at him blankly until Blaine realizes he should probably say his name back.

"Blaine."

The boy (_Kurt_, Blaine tells himself, though it'll take some getting used to. He's been elusive and nameless for so long) nods and bites his lip, fiddles with the lid of his coffee. Blaine wants to huff in annoyance. He doesn't get why the boy (_Kurt, for god sake. You're angry at him, but give him the decency of a name _Blaine thinks, in a voice that sounds a lot like Cooper's) looks so put-out because Blaine's the one who feels laughed at and pathetic. Kurt's had the upper hand in all of this, making Blaine want and want then turning out to be a liar. He's had the control and it irks Blaine that he looks so lost.

"I'm sorry, first of all." Kurt's talking to his coffee cup rather than Blaine and Blaine hums, idly tapping his foot against the table leg. The dull sound ticks to the beat of his patience, dwindling by the second. Kurt looks up on one tap and Blaine's foot stills. He's startled by how embarrassed Kurt looks. Blaine thinks he _should_ be embarrassed, at least a little, for being caught out but this looks deeper than that and Blaine darts his eyes around and shifts in his seat when Kurt says, "I'm _really _sorry."

Blaine's uncomfortable, more than he already was, and he's thrown. He wanted an apology and he's definitely gotten a heartfelt one but something's not right in the way it's come so easily and how sincere Kurt is. Blaine expected him to defend himself, say he's a teenager, let him have his kicks, and it doesn't look like that's going to happen. And Blaine doesn't understand what's going on. "I- thanks?" Blaine says and didn't mean for it to be a question but it comes out as one. "Thank you," he repeats, firmer, loosening his arms and chewing the inside of his cheek.

"It's- I'm sorry," Kurt says again, a stuck record, and okay, Blaine gets it, he's sorry. And Blaine's got to be missing something here because Blaine's been angry, confused and heartbroken and wanted a decent sorry, but not one accompanied by downcast eyes and a furrowed brow. He's not feeling any less pissed off, he just wants in on what's happening along with an explanation of the past couple of months.

"It's okay," Blaine says. It's not really, there's still so much Blaine wants and needs to know, but Kurt looks like he's going to cry or maybe punch something and Blaine loves this coffee shop – he's not up for being thrown out.

Kurt simply laughs, bitter and short, and shakes his head. "No it's not. Everything's fucked." The swearword sounds harsh from the mouth of someone who looks so delicate (though Blaine knows him to be anything but, if he's to believe anything Kurt's said in the past) and Blaine scratches at his jawline, a light stubble against his fingers.

"So, uh-"

"I'm not who you think I am," Kurt says and Blaine knew that already, is well aware of it in fact. "I'm sorry for that and I'm apologizing for… what's happened."

Blaine is so sick of not understanding this, not knowing why the boy he might love isn't actually the boy he thought he was so he sits up, rubs his hands over his face and leans both elbows on the table. "I'm angry, okay? This whole _thing _wasn't a joke to me and I'm obviously missing something here but you're dancing around it, just saying sorry over and over and all I want is an explanation." He breathes and adds, "And a damn good one," for good measure, raising his eyebrows when Kurt just blinks at him.

"You're _really _upset, aren't you?"

"Of course I am!" Blaine says, throwing his arms up and not even caring that half the shop turns to look at him. He'll scream as loud as he can if it means Kurt will hear him. "You lied to me, made me feel like I had a friend and broke my heart." He grits his jaw and holds back a growl of frustration. His infatuation seems more ridiculous said out loud and to the person it involves.

"Oh Jesus," Kurt sighs, his eyes sliding shut as he dips his head. It's maddeningly unhelpful and as far from the start of an explanation as you can get and Blaine bites down hard, holds in a yell. Then Kurt says, mostly to himself and with a shake of his head, "Idiot," and Blaine can't tell who he's calling it. He can only guess it's not himself because there's a real bite and anger behind the word that Blaine knows can't be (or shouldn't be) directed at him – he's still innocent in all this. Maybe an idiot, yes, for thinking he loved a boy from the internet with so little physical knowledge of him, but Kurt can't be angry at him for that.

"Wha-"

"Can we go somewhere private?" Kurt's eyes are pleading, his grip tight on his coffee cup, and Blaine snaps his mouth shut, frowns and falters.

"I, uh. I guess, yeah."

At Blaine's confused, startled expression, Kurt says, "Maybe not private, but just outside. With less people."

Blaine thinks he should say no. He's already pissed Cooper off by coming here in the first place - a betrayal of Cooper's trust in him because Cooper said no and Blaine ignored – and he can only imagine the lecture he'll get if Cooper discovers (and he _will _discover, he always does) he went on a walk with Kurt, to somewhere more secluded. It's stranger danger all over again and even if Blaine's legally an adult now, a small part of him worries because he doesn't know Kurt at all. Kurt said so himself: _I'm not who you think I am._

He says yes though and curses himself the second he does. Kurt must see him wince or hear his hiss because he gives Blaine a sympathetic eye, like he understands his reluctance. It does nothing to settle Blaine's stomach.

They end up at a park nearby, on a graffiti-d and scratched bench, inches between them that feel like miles. Blaine wishes they were miles, wishes Kurt didn't live in Ohio and hadn't played all these silly games, or at least had played them but from further away, in a place where Blaine would never meet his eye and feel this stupidity. But Blaine learnt a long time ago that wishes aren't worth his time.

"His name," Kurt starts but stops abruptly, huddled in on himself, hands in his lap, thumbs twiddling. He's frowning and he huffs and Blaine sniffs impatiently. "This might all sound… odd, okay, but just… hear me out." Blaine says nothing, only nods once. He can deal with odd, as long as it's an explanation and his insides can stop tearing themselves apart.

"The person you've been talking to is called Sebastian. He's eighteen and he's a jerk."

Well. It isn't how Blaine expected this to start, but since when does anything he expect ever happen anymore? It at least explains why Kurt didn't recognize him at the gym and just a little of Blaine's anger falls away, but a thousand questions burn on his tongue (_But it's you in the pictures? Who the hell is Sebastian? How does anyone pretend to be so perfect?_) that he bites down because he should listen before he asks. _Out of decency _the voice of Cooper says in his head.

"The blog's mine, I started it. Before Sebastian got a hold of it, after I stopped using it, it was the same as it was when you found it." Blaine knows what he means – the pictures, the videos, the articulate text posts on the struggles of gay teens – yet Kurt's cheeks are still flushing red, too crimson to just be from the chill breeze. It's not strange to Blaine, the tinge of embarrassment from saying what he does out loud. It's one thing to like the thrill of exhibitionism and another thing to tell everyone you do. When exposed online, it's to people who understand what you like and what you want – in public people can (and will) sneer or laugh.

Kurt continues, "I got busy though, with college applications, extra-curricular's, family…" The sentence trails off but continues in Blaine's head with a seemingly endless list of teenage troubles. They're such small problems compared to what lies ahead and Blaine's struck that this heartbreak and anger he's feeling now is nothing against future plights. This is only a young crush gone wrong, but the tight grit of his jaw and clenched fists are unyielding.

"…so I stopped using it. Sebastian knew about my blog, teased me mercilessly until one day I snapped and broke up with him."

"You were-" Blaine starts, curious and understanding more by the minute, but he's cut off by Kurt going on.

"We were only together for about a month. It wasn't even a good relationship, born from sexual tension. _Angry _sexual tension." Kurt sighs and picks at his jeans, one leg crossed gracefully over the other, and Blaine watches his hands for no other reason than he doesn't want to look at Kurt's face. "But he knew me well, better than I ever realized, and I guess that in some act of stupid revenge or something… he took over my blog and well. You know the rest."

Blaine does know the rest – the messages, the fantasies, all the pictures they shared – and he can feel some guilt settling in, an apology coming forth because Kurt's done nothing wrong, as it turns out, and Blaine's been an asshole since this conversation started. But one thing doesn't sit right so Blaine says, "But the pictures were you? You're scar on you're back. It's how I knew you in the gym."

Kurt inhales and exhales a deep breath, stares out into the empty park at the swings, unmoving. "I sent them all to him when we were together." He glances at Blaine, a flash of blue eyes to the side. "I'm no different to everything he posted or said to you. I'm an exhibitionist just like you, so he had pictures of me, and videos. He created the perfect imitation of who I am, right down to the way I write."

All Blaine can think is _creepy_. The whole thing sounds deranged and a little far-fetched, but if Kurt says that who Blaine's been talking to for months is exactly him, but _not _him, then Blaine knows when he's telling the truth. Even through a computer screen, Blaine could sense a lie, though there weren't many. Except there was, a whole bunch of them, but not lies at all. It's all confusion in Blaine's head, trying to understand that he's been talking to another boy all the time, but a boy who created Kurt in every way – a doppelganger, Blaine supposes.

Blaine says, "So your ex took over your blog, made posts about gay teens, posted pictures of you and messaged me for months pretending to be you?" Kurt nods, looks sheepish, and Blaine thinks he might start apologizing again. He shouldn't though because who the hell can guess someone would do that? And so perfectly too. Blaine can't actually judge that of course. He does know the boy in front of him from the imitation on the internet, but that's just it – it was an _imitation_. And Kurt can tell Blaine a hundred times that Sebastian got his every quirk and thought correct, but Blaine still feels like he's met someone new today, someone he doesn't know at all.

Blaine _wants_ to know him though, the same way he did all that time ago, after a message in his inbox that made him dizzy. Now he knows the Kurt online wasn't genuine, was pretend in a way, but so true to the real thing, he thinks he fell in love with the idea of Kurt – his beauty, his mind, his everything. So now the true article is in front of him, Blaine wants to learn all over again, rediscover everything he knew (or thought he knew) from the boy himself.

He looks at Kurt who's still gazing out across the park with a small frown, jaw grinding like he's biting his tongue. Blaine wonders if this Kurt and the fake one are actually similar at all – he wants to find out if they are, discover if he can fall in love with the same person twice.

He hopes Kurt will let him try.


End file.
